


the day he dies

by thephanlock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Helps Dean, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Sam is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephanlock/pseuds/thephanlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wouldn't want you to do this, Dean." Cas murmurs, the subject of his words vague. Do what? Grieve? Be upset? Be angry? Drink yourself into oblivion? You shot him a look that said, 'be more specific.' In reply, he nods towards the beer bottle that your fingers are wrapped around.</p><p>"Well, he's not here, is he?" You snap and instead of sounding cold and heartless, it sounds weak and beaten, so much so that you can virtually see the sympathy Cas is trying to disguise. "Don't you look at me like that." You say, pointing your finger at him as all you can think is, 'Please don't let him see me the way I see me, not him.'</p><p>"I can see your thoughts, Dean." He replies and you are forced to remember such a fact that you had previously forgotten."I don't pity you, I just want you to be happy."</p><p>And that's when you know for sure.</p><p>You love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the day he dies

**The day he dies**

The day he dies, you're a mess. It was an accident, a stupid, little mistake that could have been prevented so easily but now the blood flows from his hairline, his neck and his abdomen like water gushing down Niagara Falls; there's too much red. As his eyes close and his head lulls to the side uncontrollably, you hold him in your arms and rock him back and forth. And then you're screaming and you're kicking out at anyone that dares to try and pull you away from his corpse because, damn it, this wasn't how it was supposed to be and now, you need to bring him back here, back to the world of the living, back to you. There must be a way to bring him back. You can bring him back, right? You shoot an uncertain glance at the former angel kneeling beside you, who does nothing but look back at you, despair on his face as he shakes his head and utters,

"I'm sorry, Dean."

The ride back to the bunker is quiet.

_-_

It's an hour after he died and you're still crying, feeling nothing short of pathetic but Cas reassures you.

"This is normal, you just lost your brother and the pair of you had a very close bond." But no matter what he says, no matter what he does, nothing will lay your mind to rest and nothing will push the words that play through your mind on a continuous loop, a broken record, out of your head.

"No deals, no tricks, no trades, Dean." He had said, his face gravely serious. "If this goes wrong, you have to promise me that this time, I'll stay dead." You had nodded but thought that it was a promise you couldn't keep. Now, you surprise yourself as whenever you feel the urge to search for a way to bring him back, you say, 'Sam wouldn't have wanted that.' You remind yourself of such a fact time and time again but the ache within you doesn't subside. You don't know why you didn't feel anything at first but you were proven wrong by this cruel cocktail of sorrow and emptiness and loss, and something else you can't quite put your finger on, that hit you after the forty-five minute mark.

You hadn't known that it would feel like so much losing a limb. You suppose that you never really appreciate your legs and arms to their full potential until you lose one or both of them, becoming an amputee. The same is true for family members. Deep within you, the thought strikes a chord and you find yourself looking at Cas. His hair hasn't been tamed, splaying out in all directions and it pains you that there may come a day that he is dead and you're forced to continue living. As soon as you head down that train of thought, your instincts snap you down a different route.

It's the first time you've let Cas anywhere near the steering wheel of the Impala since he got his license last May, never mind allow him to drive it, but he's doing surprisingly well. It's clear that he's being extra careful in more cases than one, as you notice him peer out the corner of his eye at you.

Raging on, the concoction in the pit of your stomach churns away but you don't feel the vomit crawling up your throat before it launches itself all over the passenger seat of the Impala. Considering the circumstances, you aren't shocked that your reaction isn't, 'Baby, no!' and more wishing that Cas says nothing of the substance suddenly sprayed across the floor. You've had enough and right now, you see where Sam is - was - coming from with his desire for an apple pie life. All things taken into account, you now feel as though you want a 'normal' life too. You want to settle down, stop risking your existence on a daily basis but you know it's unlikely. Desperate, you even contemplate praying but you're not sure you believe in God.

You're not sure of anything since Sammy died.

Cas cleans it up.

-

It's two hours after he died and you're sitting in the bunker, silence reigning supreme. Cas hasn't said a word to you since you got back and you suppose there's nothing to say. For some reason, he's stuck around and in a way, you're thankful. Just why, you're not sure, but his presence is somewhat calming and he makes the pain a little bit easier to deal with. Besides that, you know that, despite his lack of 'angel mojo', nobody else will die tonight. You take a deep breath and scrub your hand down your face, shaking the trance your thoughts have placed you under, like removing dust from old books.

Where did it all go wrong?

-

It's a day and a half since he died and you haven't moved from your chair. Cas offers you a burger and a beer, saying things like, 'you need to eat, Dean,' and 'you need to take care of yourself.' With a huff, you take the bottle and pop it open. It's the first of many. Neglected and forgotten, the burger remains uneaten. It's almost forty hours since he died and the daylight that was once burning the concrete outside the bunker is verging on non-existent. Since his death, you haven't slept a wink. You've been up and about but it's mainly just to grab a bottle of beer.

You see it as progress.

Cas doesn't.

Words still won't flow out of your mouth like they used to and you're having a hard time speaking so, you just don't. You notice that the silence is a little _too_ silent tonight and come to the conclusion that the bunker is empty. With a shrug, you tilt your head back and throw the remainders of your whiskey down your throat. That's your fourth glass today. Yet, some part of you still believes that it's a good idea to go and get another.

As if on auto-pilot, your feet transport you to the kitchen and without thinking, your hands are already reaching for the bottle before the rational part of your mind can protest, launching another mouthful of the poisonous liquid down the hatch within seconds. You can no longer feel the burn it leaves.

-

It's forty-one hours since he died and you only just notice the note Cas left on the counter beside the stand containing the excessive amounts of alcohol. Against your better judgement, you stand up and saunter towards the kitchen. The tiled floor sways from side to side and so do you. 'Supply run,' the note reads, 'don't do anything stupid.' You recognise his signature scrawl before you can even process what the note says. When it dawns on you that you can actually still recognise handwriting, you realise you must not be drunk enough and down another mouthful of the whiskey you cling onto, like a lifeline in the middle of the ocean as you slowly succumb to harsh waves that toss around you, threatening to throw you under.

You were always supposed to be the strong one. Trusting you since the death of your mother, your father ladened you with the responsibility of looking after your little brother. You were always the sarcastic, cocky one with the bags of wit to spare but now, you're a broken man, quivering in the shell of the warrior he used to be. Then, it dawns on you.

It's only been forty-one hours.

-

It's just about forty-two hours since he died and you're left to wonder if you're even still alive. Numbness is beginning to spread inside you, starting to consume you and now, you ponder just how long you're going to survive without your baby brother, your anchor. Desperately searching for a distraction, your bare feet pad around the bunker, leaving light sweat marks across the floor, as you head down the hallway, around the coffee table, towards the bookshelf and back again. Finally, the anger consumes you, like a light being flicked off and launching you into darkness.

The chairs are first to feel your wrath as they are kicked mercilessly onto their sides, followed by the papers on the desk, which are soon sweeped off and sprawled across the floor. Many other things are destroyed and hurled; bulbs are smashed and pages are ripped from books and panels of wood on the side of bookshelves are kicked through and then, the glass accidentally hits the wall a little harder than you meant for it to and suddenly, you're bleeding.

Rushing to the sink, you curse under your breath and your uninjured hand scurries around, searching for a tea towel. Seconds later, you're applying pressure to the cut and when the blood doesn't stop gushing out of it, it hits you just how deep it is. With a sigh, you sit on the floor and feel the familiar prickle behind your eyes, that you had been coming accustomed to over the past forty-something hours.

And as you sit there on the kitchen tiles, blood dripping from the wound on your arm, you wonder if this is what he meant by 'stupid.'

-

It's approximately forty-three hours since he died and Castiel returns, bags of groceries in hand; it takes him barely a second to notice you crouched on the floor, sobbing and skin sliced open, before he drops the bags and pretty much sprints towards you.

"Dean?" He asks and you can't look at him. Reaching over to your arm, he tugs at the tea towel, begging you to show him. So, you do. You remove the towel and show him the dried blood, no longer being replaced by more, and you hear his concealed gasp that he had tried to bite back but failed.

"Cas," You speak for the first time since he died and your voice is croaky and breaks halfway through; you feel betrayed. Cas' face immediately softens. You both know you've hit rock bottom and now, you don't know what else to say. "I'm sorry." And all of a sudden, you're chanting it like a mantra, apology after apology leaving your lips, almost making up for the forty-three hours you spent in silence.

After the third apology, you feel his arms wrap around you and then, he's shushing. You know you should feel like a four year-old, patronised and looked down upon, but the sincerity in the way he says, 'it's okay, it's all going to be okay,' calms you and you let it all go, collapsing into his arms.

-

It's been forty-eight hours since he died and you feel ready to give Sam the send-off he deserved. You mention it to Cas and, after double-checking that you're sure, he agrees, before following you to the Impala. You take his body from your bed and place him in the back seat of the car. It's not Sam anymore, just an unoccupied casing. You burn it in a field a few miles away.

And if your hand slips into Castiel's, neither of you mention it.

-

It's been three weeks since he died and you're no longer silent or quiet. No, you're not loud, but you're getting back to the way you used to be. However, you are still dependant on the alcohol, which Cas had to frequently move so that it's out of your reach. Somehow, you always find a way to get hold of it, desperate times and all that, much to Castiel's dismay. He approaches you in the afternoon and sits opposite you at the table.

"He wouldn't want you to do this, Dean." Cas murmurs, the subject of his words vague. Do what? Grieve? Be upset? Be angry? Drink yourself into oblivion? You shot him a look that said, 'be more specific.' In reply, he nods towards the beer bottle that your fingers are wrapped around.

"Well, he's not here, is he?" You snap and instead of sounding cold and heartless, it sounds weak and beaten, so much so that you can virtually see the sympathy Cas is trying to disguise. "Don't you look at me like that." You say, pointing your finger at him as all you can think is, 'Please don't let him see me the way I see me, not him.'

"I can see your thoughts, Dean." He replies and you are forced to remember such a fact that you had previously forgotten."I don't pity you, I just want you to be happy."

And that's when you know for sure.

You love him.

-

It's been a month since he died and you're still slipping down the treacherous slope of alcoholism, dancing the dangerous tightrope that is addiction. It's worse on days Cas is away, whether that be for one hour or twenty-four, you seem more dependant on the drink when he isn't around. One o'clock in the morning rolls around and you're bladdered once again, Dr Sexy MD booming through the speakers inside the laptop that rests on your knees. Lightly, footsteps sound behind you and you turn around to face the ex-angel.

"Caaaaas," You slur, closing the lid of your computer and stumbling towards him, reaching for him, needy and clingy. "I need you, man." You mumble, wanting to be closer to him.

"So I've heard." He says, simply amusing you as he pushes his arm under your armpit and snakes it around your waist, half-carrying you to your bedroom. Without even thinking about what you're doing, you put the palm of your hand against his cheek and draw him closer, twisting him to face you. Just a few more centimetres. "Dean," He stops you and your heart crumbles into a million pieces. "Not whilst you're drunk."

And he lets you fall into bed, before tucking the covers into the memory-foam mattress around you. You pray to some imaginary higher power that you don't forget the last four words he said to you and you're hit with an epiphany.

Alcohol is just a substitute and Cas? He is your addiction.

You cringe at how sappy you've become.

-

It's been a month and a day since he died and you've not forgotten the words you had desperately wanted to remember the night before, the alcohol only distorting your memory slightly. You take a seat at the table opposite Cas and put your head in your hands, already feeling on the verge of a migraine.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, the effects of a hangover not lost on the former angel. Looking up, you shoot him daggers and expect silence, instead he chuckles. "Awful?"

"Mm-hmm." You hum indignantly, instantly regretting the excessive amount of whiskey you downed the night before, glass after glass being chugged down. You want to repeat the actions, say the words, clutch onto his coat and hold him close so badly but the fear of rejection consumes you.

After a few more moments of silence, Cas stands and leaves the room, seeming somewhat offended. You think you've done something wrong but you don't question it. After all, what could you have possibly done to upset _him_?

-

It's been five weeks since he died and Charlie drops by. Immediately, she notices the change in you. You pretend not to hear the 'private conversation' she has with Cas, muttering words like 'this isn't him,' and 'has he been like this the whole time?' and the one you would have hopelessly begged not to hear, 'call me if things get worse.' She's never seen you like this and come to think of it, you aren't certain you've ever been the like this.

All those years ago, when Sam died for the first time, which you're sure other people don't get to say, you remembered the stabbing pain in your gut and the familiarity of the alcohol as it trickled down your throat. Then, you'd made the deal and that's how you'd died for the first time at the paws of a hell hound, how you'd gone to Hell for forty years, how you'd broken the first seal, how you'd met Cas.

As the three of you sit at the dinner table, eating spaghetti in silence, Charlie stares at you, her gaze filled with worry as she witnesses you slip deeper and deeper into the bottomless pit of your thoughts. You can see the look of understanding in her eyes and you remember. When you lost Sam, she'd lost a brother too.

-

It's been six weeks since he died and you're doing a little better in some ways but worse than others; one step forwards but four leaps back. On the plus side, the number of glasses of whiskey you're drinking are going down into single digits but now that you're more coherent, you are hit with new waves of grief and emotion that you would much rather have left in the deep corners of your thoughts.

"Cas," You say, glancing sideways at him as the pair of you sit on a bench in the park. It's the second time you've left the house since Sam died and now, you're finally being able to think about him without immediately crumbling to the ground in a heap of sadness. But now, it just feels empty and numb; miles and miles of nothingness. You can't decide which is worse.

"Yes, Dean?" Cas replies and you can't look him in the eye. Suddenly, the trees in front of you are very interesting, yet even they, with their swaying branches that seem to be pointing towards the former angel, make you feel guilty that you're even telling him what you're about to tell him. Nevertheless, you bite the bullet and spit it out.

"Back when I, I was drunk, I don't know if you remember but I, we, um--"

"Almost kissed? Yes, I do remember." Cas supplies, trying to be helpful and you attempt to read his expression but it gives you nothing. Does he want you to continue or would it only embarrass you further?

"You said, 'not whilst you're drunk,' and um," You stutter, stumbling over every other word as though they were booby trapped, surrounded by trip wires. You don't know where your charm and confidence has gone but you can't bring yourself to continue.

"Dean, look at me." Cas says softly, placing his finger under your chin and raising it so that you have no choice but to maintain eye contact. "I thought you had forgotten, I thought it was a drunken mistake that, if you did remember, you would much rather me leave unmentioned. If I was wrong, I want you to tell me, I need you to tell me." You're hit with a sudden surge of bravery as the man who stood by you when you went through your darkest days sits there, patient as ever, letting you decide the fate of your relationship.

"You know what," You pause, your heart beating a hundred times per second. His hand falls from under your chin and you take the opportunity to reach for it, wanting to have him closer, even if only minutely. "I hate to say it man but you're all wrong. I hadn't forgotten, I was just too damn scared to tell you and right now, I wish I god damn had. To be honest with you Cas, I still am scared, I, I, I don't know what I'm feeling but what I do know is, I'm sorry 'cause I'm not one for this sappy crap but, I love being around you and you've made me keep going when everything around me was going to shit and I've never felt this way," You pause again.

You've not said these words out loud. Not since you were a kid, talking to your Mom. Not since Lisa.

"I love you."

Silence falls between you and all you can hear is the tweeting of the birds around you.

"Dean," Cas whispers and his voice sounds so small. For a moment, you think you've said something wrong, you wish you could take it all back but then his lips crash into yours and you're so glad you said it.

The kiss is needy and clumsy, both of you desperately trying to make up for the years you spent dancing around each other. To you, Cas tastes like honey, morning coffee and something so _Cas_ that there isn't a word to describe it, so your mind sticks to repeating his name over and over; _Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas_.

When you pull away, gasping for air, his hands are on the sides of your face, seemingly caressing your cheeks as he rubs gentle circles over them with his thumbs. One of your hands is clutching to his arm, like a stairway railing, but the other is twisted in his trenchcoat, pulling him closer towards you. Maybe there is a light at the end of this tunnel, maybe there is something better than all this that you've endured before, maybe you don't have to die at the hands of a monster, gun or injury. Maybe you can be happy, even if Sammy isn't there with you.

"I love you too, Dean." Cas says and you show off a toothy, childish grin, before muttering the word 'good' under your breath and tugging on his infamous, tan trenchcoat. All of a sudden, you forget how many hours it is since Sam died, all you can think about now is putting your lips on his once again and showing him just how much you love him.

So you kiss him and it's like falling and flying all at once.


End file.
